


you helped me put the brakes on

by middlecyclone



Category: Cordelia (2020), Cordelia (Movie Poster)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone
Summary: Before she knew it she had Mr. Flynn shoved face-first against the wall."Don't do that again," Cordelia growled into his neck, "I'm warning you. Try that a second time, and you'll end up with more than you bargained for."Mr. Flynn said nothing. From her vantage point behind him, Cordelia couldn't stop herself noticing that his eyelashes were very long, and startlingly dark against his skin.
Relationships: Man (Cordelia Movie Poster)/Woman (Cordelia Movie Poster)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	you helped me put the brakes on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kototyph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/gifts).



"I saw you rapping on the table," said Mr. Flynn conversationally, as they were leaving the drawing room after the séance.

Cordelia didn't miss a beat. "No, you didn't."

"I think I know what I saw."

“Well, you must be mistaken. You could not possibly have seen anything of the sort, because it simply didn’t happen.”

He raised a thick, sandy eyebrow at her. It was highly irritating.

“You are being insufferable,” she said, and swept ahead of him, aiming to follow the rest of the guests into the dining room, silently kicking herself for getting caught. She was _better_ than this; she’d been staging conversations with the dead for over a decade and nobody had ever cottoned on to any of her tricks, until now. She wasn't sure if she'd simply gotten complacent and sloppy, or if Mr. Flynn had keener eyes than the rest of his peers, but whatever the reason Cordelia was embarrassed to have allowed this to happen.

And that was when Mr. Flynn made his mistake. As she brushed past him in the narrow hallway, he took his large rough hand and grasped the fold of her sleeve, stopping her in her tracks. It was not an ungentle touch; it had simply been intended to grab her attention, but she hadn’t been expecting it, and. Well.

Cordelia did not _like_ to be stopped in her tracks. 

She reacted on instinct more than anything else, trained reflexes kicking into motion as she felt the fabric of her dress strain against her shoulder, and before she knew it she had Mr. Flynn shoved face-first against the wall.

" _Don't_ do that again," Cordelia growled into his neck, "I'm warning you. Try that a second time, and you'll end up with more than you bargained for."

Mr. Flynn said nothing. From her vantage point behind him, Cordelia couldn't stop herself noticing that his eyelashes were very long, and startlingly dark against his skin. 

"I wasn't trying to be rude," he said, voice low and raspy. I just wanted to let you know that I admired your artistry."

"I—come again?"

"It's hard work, to run a séance and get everyone eating out of your palm like that. Especially when you don't have the benefit of talking to any actual spirits, of course. I should know; I'm the best medium in Cornwall."

"You are _not_."

"Fine. The fourth best medium in Cornwall. All I'm saying is that I liked your work."

Cordelia was temporarily at a loss for words. "Right," she said, "well then. It looks like I've overreacted somewhat. I suppose in that case I should—let you go—"

"Wait," said Mr. Flynn, "what if I don't want you to?"

A beat. Cordelia was suddenly aware of how soft the material of his jacket was under her fingertips, how fine the fabric was where she had her arms wrapped around his upper arms. He smelled, she admitted reluctantly, very nice, like wood smoke and soap.

"I'm quite sure I don't understand what you mean," she said coolly, and let her hands trail lightly down his arms as she released her grasp and stepped slowly away.

Mr. Flynn stayed exactly where he was, face pressed into the patterned wallpaper, his pink mouth still slightly open. "Oh, I think you do," he said, voice very hoarse, and—

Well. He was right. She knew exactly what he was saying; she just needed to decide what she was going to do about it.

Cordelia allowed herself a cursory glance to ensure that the dining room door had indeed swung closed behind the voluminous skirts of Mrs. Armstrong, and then she was grabbing Mr. Flynn by the shoulder and whirling him around. He was a fair bit taller than her and much heavier, but he went willingly; she barely had to push at all to get him where she wanted him. She pulled him towards her, his eyes dark with interest, until she could feel the heat coming off his body again, feel his warm breath against her skin—and then she pushed him away from her again, slamming him back flat against the wall with a soft thump. 

“Shh,” she said hypocritically. He just swallowed.

That did it—she couldn’t resist anymore. She leaned into him and kissed him, pressing their mouths together. His lips parted under hers and he moaned, an almost imperceptible sound, but it sent a startling thrill through her. His hands came up to wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer, and she didn’t pull away but she did take her own hands and wrap them around his wrists, tugging them up away, pressing them into the wall on either side of his head.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this my way,” she murmured, and kissed him again. His mouth was soft, softer even than it had looked, and he kissed her back like he was reading her mind, slow and pliant and content to let her take the lead, following all her cues. 

She could feel the hard lines of his body through both their clothes and she wished, fleetingly, that they were somewhere a little more private, and then Mr. Flynn was pulling his wrists free of her grip. She opened her mouth to object, to scold him, but before she could get a single syllable out he was running a hand up her dress to press against the wetness between her legs, and all she could do was gasp. He slipped a finger inside her and she had to bite her lip to keep quiet as her knees went weak and sparks shot up her spine. 

And then Cordelia heard the dining room door swing open again and before she could blink she was on the other side of the hallway, smoothing her skirts back into place, hoping her mouth didn’t look as red as it felt.

“Aren’t you two coming to dinner?” Mrs. Armstrong asked.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Flynn said, voice surprisingly even, “we were just discussing the ethereal signature of the spirits we summoned just now. It’s an absolutely fascinating topic.”

“Yes, well, come discuss it in here with the rest of us,” Mrs. Armstrong said brightly, “I’m sure we’d all love to hear your thoughts.”

“After you, Mr. Flynn,” Cordelia said, as primly as she could manage.

“Please,” he said, shooting her an impossibly charming grin that held a promise that she’d be sure to see him again later, “call me Frank.”


End file.
